by Sarina Bowen
My stomach raises a small objection, but I smile and take one anyway, just as an accessory. “Thank you.”
Dozens of guests are already clustered around the players. I feel a little sorry for our boys. If I’d played hockey all day, I don’t think I’d want to put on a tux and shake hands with season ticket holders.
I do a slow circuit of the patio. There are waiters carrying around silver trays of hors d’oeuvres. I see tiny bites of salmon tartare on rice crackers, and boeuf en croûte.
My mother frowns on eating at a party. She says it’s difficult to look like a lady when you’re shoving food in your mouth. Since my ladylike persona took a serious hit last night, I won’t risk it. So I hold my glass of champagne and wait for an opening to ask Rebecca if there’s anything she needs.
I really need a chance at that job. Becoming Rebecca’s office manager would buy me some time to figure out what I want to do with my life. And I could be a great manager. Thanks to my upbringing, I know tons about hockey. And—thanks to charm school—dealing with people is easy for me, too.
I locate Rebecca in the center of the space. Nate Kattenberger stands beside his future wife, looking resplendent in a charcoal tuxedo. His bowtie is Brooklyn aubergine—the team color. There’s a line of well-wishers to greet them both.
Stepping back against the hedgerow, I scan the crowd. If I didn’t already have a thing for hockey players, I’d probably develop one right now. There’s a lot of testosterone on this patio, and it looks twice as good in a bowtie. Leo Trevi is chatting with the team captain, Patrick O’Doul. Whereas Leo has a pretty-boy face, O’Doul is more rugged.
Which is better? Who’s to say? It’s like ice cream flavors. There are so many good ones that it’s hard to choose.
When my gaze finds Castro, though, I experience a cascade of reactions. First up is OMG how can one man be so hot? He wears his traditional black tux as impeccably as an Oscar nominee. The perfect starched collar of his shirt stands out against his shapely, olive-toned jaw.
He’s holding a glass in those long fingers—the ones I still haven’t experienced on my body. Or at least not in the way that I want to. The man did hold me while I fell asleep last night. While I was too drunk to appreciate it. Or even remember it properly.
In the grand scheme of things, last night doesn’t qualify as an actual tragedy. But I feel bereft nonetheless.
He must feel me watching him, because he turns his head and catches me staring. My face reddens, which seems to happen a lot when I’m looking at him. But just as the embarrassment kicks in, something unexpected happens. Castro’s eyes heat. And he makes a slow sweep of my dress.
Lordy. It’s a good thing I’m wearing a lined bra under this gown because otherwise I’d have to blame the ocean breezes for the way my nipples are suddenly tight and sensitive. That man’s gaze could be sold as a weapon of female destruction.
His slow perusal of me ends when we lock eyes. And then he actually scowls before looking away.
“Heidi Jo?”
I look back toward Rebecca so fast it’s a good thing I don’t snap my neck. “Evening,” I say quickly. “How are you both?”
“Just fine!” Becca says with a smile, her diamond ring glinting in the fairy lights. “How are you holding up?”
“I feel terrific,” I say quickly. And it’s almost true. My headache has finally receded into the background. I take the tiniest sip of champagne, but it doesn’t appeal to me right now. “Are you excited for the golf tournament tomorrow?” I ask her.
“I don’t know if ‘excited’ and ‘golf’ belong in the same sentence,” Becca says.
“That’s my girl!” Nate toasts her.
“But we’re going to raise a lot of money for charity. And I get to drive the cart,” she says with a smile.
“Good plan. What can I do to help?” I’m fixing to ask that question seventeen times a day until she realizes the new assistant’s job belongs to me.
Becca shrugs. “Just be ready at eight thirty, okay? I’m sure something will come up for us to worry about. Something always does.” Becca’s gaze focuses on someone entering the party. “Heidi Jo, your father has arrived.”
“Here?” Even as the word comes out of my mouth, I know I shouldn’t be surprised. Money, golf, and hockey are his favorite things. So what if we’re a hundred miles from midtown? His driver brought him. Or else he took a helicopter.
I should have known.
A few seconds later, he arrives at my side. I open my mouth to greet him when he removes the champagne glass from my hand. “You won’t be needing this, sweetheart,” he says, his voice grim. “Good evening, Nate. Rebecca.”
“Evening, commissioner,” Nate says. “Are you ready to raise some money for adaptive sports?”
“Anytime.” My father chuckles.
“I didn’t see your check, though,” Nate adds.
My father scowls. “Maybe it got lost in the mail.”
Nate grins. “Just teasing you. I don’t ever see the checks. It’s probably on Becca’s desk.”
I’m not even listening, because my face is on fire. Daddy took that glass out of my hand as though I were a naughty teen. I’m used to him treating me like that, but usually it happens in private.
“Hello, Daddy,” I say as he turns to me, taking a deep drink of my bubbly. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“I’m invited every year,” he says, glancing around the crowd. “And since you haven’t returned my calls today, I did not have the opportunity to tell you.”
Yep. I walked right into that one. My face burns even more brightly.
“But since we’re all here,” Daddy continues, “let’s spend a few moments talking about Heidi Jo’s internship.”
“She’s been a big help so far,” Nate Kattenberger puts in. “If you’ll excuse me—I have a few hands to shake.” He slips off, the way I wish I could, too.
“What did you have in mind?” Rebecca asks. So I guess we’re doing this now.
My father removes a piece of paper from his pocket. “There won’t be any desk jobs this year. I’ve made a list of the more utilitarian jobs at the rink—the ones you end up in when you don’t finish college. Take a look at this.”
“Oh,” Rebecca says slowly. “That’s an interesting approach.”
I want to kick him in the knees with my sparkly shoes. But I won’t make a scene. I look up at him with clear eyes, even if I’m dying inside.
Rebecca takes the list from my father’s hand and skims it. “These are the jobs you think Heidi Jo could do?”
“No—these are all the jobs she will do. All of them. One job a week for ten weeks,” he says.
“Hmm.” Rebecca flashes me a quick look of sympathy. “Covering the stadium ice is a union job,” Rebecca says. “She can’t work with those guys.”
“Then cross that one off.” My father smiles cheerfully. “There’s more than ten things on that list. She’s going to be paid exactly like everyone else who does those jobs—on the payroll—and I’ll personally reimburse each business unit. My assistant is ready to tackle the paperwork for those weeks when she’s…”
“Selling hotdogs for the stadium vendor?” Becca clarifies, still studying the list. “Cleaning locker rooms with the maintenance crew?”
Oh Lord, deliver me.
“For starters,” my father chirps.
“All right,” Rebecca says. “We can work with this. For now. A little later in the season, though, there may be an entry-level job that Heidi Jo can apply for—”
“No,” my father says immediately. Because interrupting people is his favorite pastime. “She will complete at least ten of the tasks on that sheet, or there will be financial consequences for her.”
My heart sinks again. I don’t have to ask what he means, either. My father is the trustee of the trust fund my grandfather left me. He can vest me any time after I turn twenty-one in a few weeks. But he doesn’t have to vest me. He can wait if he chooses.
And Daddy’s been hinting that college dropouts don’t deserve Grandpa’s legacy.
But ten jobs? Ten weeks? The job I want will be long gone by then. Rage bubbles up inside me, and I have to take a deep cleansing breath just to keep it inside.
“In fact we’ll start now,” my father says, crossing his burly arms. “Heidi Jo will be parking cars for the rest of the evening. Please go outside and report to the bell captain. They’re waiting for you.”
“Parking cars?” I squeak. “What does that have to do with hockey?”
“Nothing,” he barks. “But it has a hell of a lot to do with real life. It pays minimum wage. Do you know how much that is?”
I swallow hard. “No, sir,” I say softly. Please don’t make a scene.
“Eleven seventy-five in the New York suburbs. Thirteen-fifty when you’re inside city limits. Now go on. The bell captain’s name is Roger. Don’t keep him waiting.”
There is a horrible awkward pause. I can feel sympathy radiating from Rebecca. Her expression is stunned, with a side dish of appalled. She opens her mouth and then closes it again. My father’s antics are putting her in a very awkward position right now.
The last thing I need is for my future boss to be stressed out over something to do with me. And a well-raised Southern girl always knows how to do the graceful thing that puts everyone at ease. There’s one clear option open to me, and I take it.
I lift my chin as if I own the whole resort. “Good evening, then,” I say to Rebecca. And—without a glance at Daddy—I leave the party to go park some cars in an evening dress and sparkly shoes.
7
Jason
There have been nights when I’ve regretted my life choices. But this really isn’t one of them. I won’t hide from the league commissioner, because I’ve done nothing wrong.
I stand my ground, shaking hands with fans and nursing a beer that would probably taste better from the bottle than from the stuffy goblet the bartender handed me.
The evening passes slowly. But at least I don’t have to avoid Heidi all night, in that killer dress and those fuck-me heels. I have no idea what her father said to her, but she lit out of here no more than two minutes after he arrived, and I haven’t seen her since.
Not that I ought to be looking.
Eventually the commissioner makes his way over to our cluster of players. “Good evening, boys,” he says, shaking O’Doul’s, Bayer’s, and then Silas’s hand. “I expect more great things from the team this year.”
“So do we,” O’Doul says easily.
The commissioner is well-respected, even though he’s only held the job for a couple of years so far. He had a hell of a career in Nashville before retiring to become their defensive coach and then general manager. He’s known to be a shrewd negotiator who always gets what he wants.
When he turns to me, I offer my hand, and I’m not entirely surprised when he attempts to crack all of my bones at once.
“Easy,” I say smoothly. “I’m going to need that hand to score.”
“My daughter is off limits,” he says immediately.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see my teammates’ stunned faces. They didn’t expect him to go right for the jugular. “Not a problem, sir. That photograph does not tell an accurate story.”
Speaking of photographs, I can hear the telltale click of someone’s camera shutter right now. Some asshole is taking a picture of the commissioner trying to intimidate me.
I hate my life tonight. It’s a fact. But I smile anyway, damn it.
So does he. “Glad to hear it,” he says, and somehow his smile makes him look like he still wants to snap my neck. “She shouldn’t be out drinking with the players.”
“We have no reason to shun her, though,” O’Doul says, jumping in to rescue me. “We’re a friendly bunch. And even if she had a little too much to drink last night, these two made sure she stayed safe.” He puts a hand on both my and Silas’s shoulders.
“I can see that she’s fine,” the commissioner says with a chuckle. “And she has nothing but good things to say about you gentlemen.” He actually rolls his eyes. “But she’s an impressionable young thing who’s got her head on a little backwards right now. So any reminders you can give her that adult life is not one extended party would be appreciated. Now you boys take care, and I’ll see you on the golf course tomorrow, bright and early.”
Having said his piece, he moves on to shake more hands.
“That could have gone worse,” Silas says.
“You still have your balls,” O’Doul says, and then he laughs.
“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up.” I track the commissioner across the room. “Sucks to be Heidi, though.”
“Because she’s forbidden to get into your pants?” Silas asks. “Any girl would be inconsolable. I hear there’s a waiting list.”
“Yeah, poor girl. I meant, though, that she has him for a dad. No wonder she decided to try tequila.”
“At least he cares,” Silas points out. “Not everybody has that.”
“Truth,” O’Doul agrees, just as Tommy the publicist steps into our circle.
“Evening, boys. Who’s ready to golf tomorrow? I’ve got O’Doul in a foursome with Silas.”
“You know I’m a hack, right?” O’Doul asks. “I don’t actually keep score for myself. It’s too embarrassing.”
“I taught him to score each hole with a smiley face or a frowny face,” Bayer adds. “It’s better for morale than to write a double-digit number on the sheet.”
“Double digits, eh?” Tommy chuckles. “Oh, man.”
“Who are you putting me with?” I ask Tommy.
He looks surprised. “I don’t have you down to play.”
“Seriously?” My hackles are up again already. “You don’t think the Latino can golf?”
“We need Castro,” Bayer says immediately. “Put him out front. He’s the only one on the team with a handicap.”
Tommy blinks. “The reason I don’t have you down for golf is that your clubs were not on the bus. So I assumed you don’t golf.”
“Oh, shit,” I say, feeling like an ass. “They’re in my hotel room. I didn’t ride the bus.”
Tommy pulls a sheet out of his pocket. “I’ll redo the foursomes.”
“Feel free to cut me from the roster,” O’Doul volunteers.
“I’ll take it under advisement.” Tommy strides away.
“Anyone want anything from the bar?” O’Doul asks.
“Not from this bar,” I say, peering into the dregs of my beer. I’m not fit for company tonight.
“Suit yourself,” O’Doul says before he heads for the bartender.
“Time check,” I say to Silas.
He glances at his designer watch. “It’s nine, big man. You’re almost off the clock.”
I drain the beer I’ve been nursing. “I think I’m done here. I took photos with dozens of people. I signed autographs and made small talk. Want to hit the hotel bar instead?” I can’t wait to take off this fucking bowtie that’s choking me. I love my team, but this is just one of those nights when professional hockey looks more like a dog-and-pony show than a sport.
“Maybe,” Silas says. “Leo wanted to go out for pizza, though.”
“You go without me.” I’m just not in the mood for people. “I’ll see you back at the hotel.”
I set my beer glass down on a table and glance around the room. Coach Worthington isn’t watching me and neither is the PR team. All great hockey players know how to find an opening, and I’ve just found mine.
Ten seconds later I’ve ducked from the patio into the lobby, and I’m making a break for the front doors. That buzzy, preseason energy is back, and it needs someplace to go.
Training camp has been great so far. It feels good to be back on the ice. But now I have to spend this ridiculous weekend in the Hamptons. It’s not a vacation. We’re here to impress fans on that undersized rink and at tomorrow’s charity golf tournament.
The
re’s no shortage of rich Long Islanders who will pay two grand each to get stuck in the sand trap with us. The course is supposed to be a real doozy. I hope I can write off the hundred dollars’ worth of balls I’m going to lose.
It’s a waste of time. I feel twitchy to skate and eager to prove myself.
I walk outside, fishing in my pocket for my wallet. I pull out a couple of singles. “Can I get my car?” I ask a waiting bellman. “It’s a…”
“Tesla Model X in Pearl White Multi-coat!” says a female voice. “This one is all mine, boys. Hand over that key.”
I blink, but Heidi Jo Pepper is still here. She’s curbside in that sleek dress that’s cupping her irresistible tits and fuck me-heels that glitter. As if my night weren’t long enough already.
And now she’s squabbling with the bellman, apparently over who gets to fetch my car.
“You said the next one was mine!” she says, holding her hand out for the key. “You promised not three minutes ago!”
“Miss Heidi…” the man says. “It depends on the vehicle.”
“Roger!” she gasps. “You’re kidding me! Don’t tell me you’re one of those. A man who thinks there’s something wrong with the way women drive!”
The little dude looks completely tongue-tied. And I’m betting he’s totally one of those.
“Hand it over,” she snaps. “Have you heard the term ‘hostile work environment’?”
This girl. Holy shit. It’s a struggle not to laugh.
Looking completely cowed, the guy hands over my key fob. “I parked it over by—”
“Oh, I saw where you parked it,” she snaps. “When you sent me to go get that 1994 Celica.” She tosses her hair. Then she turns to me. “Just a moment, sir.”
And then I’m watching her walk away into the darkness of the parking lot, her hips swaying defiantly in that sleek pink dress that I want so badly to unzip and peel her out of…
That’s when it hits me. She’s going to drive my baby. And suddenly I’m the same kind of asshole who’s worried about her skills behind the wheel.
So I take off after her. “Hey—Hot Pepper. Wait up!”
